


A Foolish Wolf

by round_robin



Series: An Exaltation of Wolves [2]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Anal Sex, Emotional Baggage, Emotionally Repressed, Established Relationship, Explicit Consent, Explicit Sexual Content, Kaer Morhen's Fanon Hot Springs (The Witcher), M/M, Oral Sex, Situational Polyamory, Top Jaskier | Dandelion, Witchersexual Jaskier | Dandelion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-03
Updated: 2020-04-03
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:39:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,172
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23460349
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/round_robin/pseuds/round_robin
Summary: The innkeeper grunted at them from behind the bar. “Another Witcher? Don't need one, barely needed the one we got...”Both Jaskier and Geralt snapped to attention. “There's another Witcher here?” Geralt asked.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Jaskier | Dandelion/Lambert
Series: An Exaltation of Wolves [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1687699
Comments: 103
Kudos: 1742
Collections: Jaskier or Geralt/others (with or w/out eachother)





	A Foolish Wolf

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This is a series now, which wasn't the plan, but Pandemic 2020 has given me a lot of time to write, so here we are. This takes place after "Soap, and the Scents of Home," there are references to that fic and that one really should be read first.
> 
> All mistakes are mine, please let me know if you find a typo and I'll fix it.
> 
> If anyone's interested, I'm back on tumblr now as round--robin

Geralt walked into the inn and the whole room slammed to a stop, all eyes suddenly on him. While they were accustomed to being stared at by now, this was a bit excessive.

Jaskier, right next to him, took a step closer and felt Geralt's arm drop behind him, just in case he needed to grab Jaskier by the hips and get them out quick. Jaskier put on a bright smile and greeted the room. “Good evening, fair tavern! Might I entertain you with a song?”

No one moved. The innkeeper grunted at them from behind the bar. “Another Witcher? Don't need one, barely needed the one we got...”

Both Jaskier and Geralt snapped to attention. “There's another Witcher here?” Geralt asked.

“What's he look like?” Jaskier had received several lectures about the other schools—some were fine, others produced idiots or lunatics and were best avoided, and Geralt swore if he ever ran into that Griffin again, he'd steer clear of the offending town for a decade.

The innkeeper grumbled again. “Black hair, yellow eyes, not as tall as that one, what's it matter? He bled all over my floor and now he's probably bleeding all over my beds! To Hell with him!”

“Blood—” Geralt's eyes snapped to the ruby red drops making their way up the stairs. In the crowded pub, he couldn't smell whose blood. His glare shifted to the innkeeper, ready to stare the man down until he gave them information.

Geralt hadn't taken a single step when a streak of blue silk flashed across the bar. Jaskier, lute still strapped to his back, reached over the counter and grabbed the innkeeper by the collar, slamming him down. He bared his teeth, eyes wild. “Which room? Give me the key!”

While the man wasn't elderly, he was in the autumn of his life and winced in pain. Pressed against the bar top, his hand fumbled under the counter and produced a key. “Last room on the left, second floor.”

Jaskier dropped the man like something foul and grabbed the key, running up the stairs. Geralt only paused to throw a few coins on the bar top—a few too many, but not excessive. “For the blood,” he said, then followed Jaskier.

The idea that Jaskier was about to burst in on a possible unknown Witcher—and an injured one at that—sped Geralt's steps. He managed to catch up to Jaskier and grabbed him by the collar. “Fucking knock, see if it's one of us.” Geralt didn't think he could protect Jaskier from an angry Cat, or fucking Letho of Gulet in a foul mood.

Jaskier knocked. “Go away!” came the shouted response and the color drained from the bard's face.

“Lambert!” He unlocked the door and burst inside. “Lambert!”

Geralt followed him in and bolted the door, hopefully no one downstairs was stupid enough to mess with _two_ Witchers. Taking a breath, Geralt finally turned to see just how injured Lambert was. He leaned against the wooden tub—clearly favoring one side—with scrapes and cuts decorating his face and chest. None of them looked like they'd scar, so where had all that blood come from?

Jaskier knelt by the tub and had a much better view. His eyes went wide at the pink water and he shoved down the urge to smack Lambert. “Lambert! What the hell! This is no way to treat a wound like that!” With a shake of his head and an angry huff (Jaskier had to be angry right now, the only other option was to start crying) he threw open his bag and removed a roll of bandages, alcohol to disinfect—their last bottle—and a clean wash rag. “Geralt, come see if this needs stitches.”

“Gonna need something stronger than that if you sew me up,” Lambert started to laugh, then winced.

Geralt peered over the side of the tub. The large gash in Lambert's left side extended from just under his arm, down to his hip. It was nasty, but already closing. “No stitches. What did it?”

“Basilisk,” Lambert said. “I took Golden Oriole before—I'm not stupid, I didn't get poisoned—but it got a last lucky shot when I stabbed it.”

“You are stupid,” Jaskier mumbled. “This water isn't even hot!”

“It was when I got in.” Lambert lay back, resting his head on the edge of the tub, exhaustion pulling at his eyes. “I've been trying to get out for fifteen minutes. I'm too... tired.”

The sharp slap from Jaskier shocked Lambert to attention. The kiss that followed immediately after shocked him again. He felt the tears on Jaskier's cheeks and kissed back, one eye checking Geralt for a reaction. It wasn't winter, and they certainly weren't at Kaer Morhen... he didn't know what rules applied.

But Geralt said nothing. He simply stood back and let Jaskier do as he wished. When he broke the kiss, Jaskier waved Geralt over. “Igni, please.”

Geralt cast the Sign and warmed up the water, making Lambert groan. “Fuck,” he hissed. “That hurts! Are you trying to boil me alive?”

“It's better for your wounds.” Jaskier's voice cut like glass, sharper than usual, tears still rimming his eyes. Geralt had heard that tone before (usually when he got hurt like this, or worse) but it was new to Lambert, who half retreated as far as the small tub allowed. Eyes softening, Jaskier ran a hand along his jaw. “Let me take care of you, let me fix it.” Lambert nodded and Jaskier's scowl disappeared. “Good, thank you. Is there more clean water anywhere?”

“There's an extra bucket near the fire.”

Jaskier pressed a kiss to Lambert's uninjured side and checked the bucket, the water was still hot enough not to need Igni, and he brought it back over to the tub. “Can you stand?”

“Been trying.” Lambert sighed and tried again, hands shakily gripping the sides of the tub. Before his strength failed again, Geralt was already there, strong hand under his arm, helping him to his feet.

Now that Jaskier had a full view of Lambert's wounds, he got down to business. He dipped the clean rag into the hot water and dabbed at the wound, cleaning the blood and what little dirt remained. Lambert didn't make a sound, leaning on Geralt for support. They exchanged glances in silent conversation while Jaskier worked: they'd both definitely had worse than this, but Jaskier's attention would save Lambert days of pain and discomfort. Witchers were more than familiar with pain and discomfort, they were the most constant of bed fellows... until Jaskier came along.

When the bard had finished cleaning the large gash, along with a few other small nicks, he picked up the alcohol and dabbed it on the cloth. “This is going to sting,” Jaskier whispered. He knew his wolves didn't need the bedside manner, he gave it all the same.

Lambert hissed when the rag touched his injuries, but said nothing, his fingers digging into Geralt's supporting arm a little harder. Their eyes met again— _don't tell the bard_.

“Well, the bleeding has definitely stopped.” Jaskier patted him dry before steering Geralt over to the bed. Lambert barely had to lean on him anymore. Still, the second he touched the bed, all he wanted to do was collapse into it, but Jaskier's insistent hands kept working. “Lift your arm.” Lambert followed the instruction. He followed all of Jaskier's instructions until he was finished dressing the wound.

Jaskier stood up to inspect his work, but his hands did not stray far. Lambert brushed a hand up and down Jaskier's leg, suddenly needing to touch. It had only been a few months since they all parted and he honestly hadn't thought about Jaskier much... not until that basilisk got a piece of him and he longed for those soft, healing hands. And now, here he was, like fucking magic. Lambert had to be careful not to let the bard spoil him... it didn't take much comfort to ruin a Witcher.

His eyes flashed over to Geralt again, who traveled with Jaskier, who had access to those caring hands and sweet mouth all the time. He hadn't slowed or softened (Lambert knew that for a fact). Was it because the White Wolf was so much stronger than the rest of them? That seemed to be the answer to most questions regarding Geralt's exceptional nature, yet Lambert had a feeling the answer to this question had more to do with Jaskier, whose hands were too soft, who cried too easily, yet took to the Witcher's Path better than any human Lambert had seen before.

Lute calloused fingers brushed against his cheek and jaw, bringing Lambert's attention back to Jaskier. Those sky blue eyes smiled at him, one hand carding through his hair. Lambert tried not to shut his eyes at the tingles of pleasure trickling down his spine, he didn't want to look away from Jaskier, especially when he hadn't yet convinced himself this wasn't some hallucination. He could imagine himself sprawled out on the forest floor, bleeding heavily from the the basilisk's strike, his blood starved brain conjuring images of the only comfort he'd ever known.

“He's here, Lambert,” Geralt said, bringing their silent conversations into the open. “We're both here.”

“Yes,” Jaskier said. “And we're not leaving until you're well.”

“Short visit then. I'm already starting to feel better.” Lambert tried to tug Jaskier into his lap, only for him to resist. Eyes flashed at Geralt again—had he misinterpreted? was this not allowed outside Kaer Morhen? Lambert thought, with the touching, that it was alright—but a warm hand turned him back, focusing his attention on Jaskier again.

“I'm not about to let you fuck me how you like and split open that side again,” Jaskier said. “For one, you'll ruin all my hard work, for another, that was our last roll of bandages.” But Jaskier started stripping his clothes. Blue silk fluttered to the floor, followed by boots, breeches and small clothes. Jaskier stood naked in front of Lambert and pushed him back on the bed. “Relax.”

The urge to resist just for the sake of resisting pushed Lambert to fight Jaskier's gentle hand... when gentle turned into insistent, his defiance crumbled and Lambert relaxed onto the bed. Jaskier followed him, straddling the top of his thighs—lower than his usual placement to better protect Lambert's wound—and gently stroking his uninjured right side. Lambert groaned and tried to arch up into the touch, but Jaskier held him down. “The point of relaxing back is so you don't disturb your dressing. Now stay very still.”

Jaskier bent forward over Lambert, pressing light kisses along his stomach and hip, moving slowly down. Warm breath ghosted over the head of his cock, followed by the quick flick of a tongue. Lambert twitched, trying to arch up, a quick prod below his injury sent him back down, turning away from the pain. “If you can't do what I ask, I'll have Geralt hold you down.” Jaskier's voice was light, conversational, like he hadn't just exploited Lambert's wound to get him to stop moving.

Still standing next to the bed, Geralt chuckled. “I think you have everything in hand.” He retreated to the door and sat down in the room's only chair, keeping watch should anyone disturb them.

It was just like last winter, Geralt posted by the door while Jaskier and Lambert wrapped around each other in the warm bed. He wasn't sure if Geralt got anything out of watching them, he hadn't seen the other man tending to himself, Lambert had been a little busy with Jaskier at the time... but he looked now and Geralt seemed interested. Well, he _smelled_ interested, but Lambert might chalk that up to the light smell of arousal that always surrounded the bard, he couldn't get enough of that smell at Kaer Morhen, and now he had it again, if only for a little while.

For Geralt and Lambert, it wasn't... physical, not like what Geralt had with Eskel. They were brothers and cared for each other deep down—very, _very_ deep down, they were still Witchers, soft bed company be damned—and their only shared points of contact were Eskel, and now Jaskier. Years ago, when he was young and bold, Eskel took him to bed with Geralt watching, and that was good, it was wonderful... but never the reverse, never had Geralt taken him while Eskel watched. The new variable of Geralt's bard, _his_ human, had those old rules changed? Lambert had seen the bard pressed between Geralt and Eskel, both wolves scattering love bites across his skin before sharing a growling kiss with each other. Is that what Jaskier expected tonight? Surly not with his injury...

“Lambert.” Jaskier's soft voice drifted up to him. He looked down to see those blue eyes and plush lips right next to his cock. Gods, wasn't that an image. “Where did your mind go? I'm starting some very good work here and trying not to think of your inattention as criticism.”

Jaskier and Geralt chuckled, but Lambert stayed quiet. He looked from Jaskier to Geralt, then back again. “I don't...” Jaskier trailed a light touch across his hip, the man's full attention focused on him. Lambert tried again. “I don't know where we stand here. I don't know the rules.”

For the first time, Jaskier peered over his shoulder, checking Geralt's expression. Geralt shrugged and Jaskier nodded. It appeared they'd mastered the art of the silent conversation as well. Jaskier nuzzled the side of Lambert's cock, the tip of his nose brushing from his sac, all the way to the head.

“The rules are... when we see each other, we get to touch each other.” His hand slid down Lambert's thigh, caressing more than arousing, the mouth pressed against the side of his cock took care of that part well enough. “And Geralt will make sure no one tries to kill us in the middle. Do those rules work for you?”

But Lambert wasn't ready to let his guard down just yet, his instincts pushed him to verify the contract. “Will the rules ever change?”

Jaskier shook his head, all kidding gone from his eyes, replaced with care and... he wanted to call it love, he so wanted to call it love. “Not unless you want them to.”

All of a sudden, Lambert didn't trust his voice. He nodded instead.

“Good.” Jaskier's smile returned, but only for a moment. It vanished again when he opened his mouth and enveloped Lambert's cock.

Slow at first, a little teasing. His lips pressed around the head, tongue sliding across the slit. Lambert so wanted to buck up, get more of that warm mouth, but Jaskier's gentle yet insistent hand on his hip held him in place. He'd no sooner try to break Jaskier's hold than break his own arm. And with that errant thought, Lambert suddenly knew with the kind of clarity that only came in moments of need: he'd hurt himself first before ever hurting Jaskier.

It didn't take long for the slow licks to drive him mad. One hand cupped around the back of Jaskier's head, the other curled into the bed sheets. “Fucking come on, I'm not going to break. Uh!” A quick poke to his bad side shut Lambert up again.

Jaskier took his time. With slow, torturous licks, he dragged his tongue up one side of Lambert's cock and down the other, pausing to lap across his balls. Nosing his legs wider apart, Jaskier's tongue went farther down than ever before and Lambert's breath hitched. “Fuck,” he sighed.

“That's the idea,” Jaskier said, voice muffled between his legs. Lambert froze and blue eyes locked with his. “If you want, that is.” A spit slick finger brushed against Lambert's hole. “Do you want?”

The question gave Lambert pause. It had been a fair few seasons since he... But he nodded all the same. “It's fine. Yes.”

Jaskier kissed his stomach and sat up, one hand lightly stroking Lambert. “Geralt, oil?”

Rising from his vigil by the door, Geralt fetched Jaskier's bag and brought it to him, dropping a kiss on his lips before returning to the chair. If he hadn't spent half of last winter fucking Geralt's traveling companion, Lambert might spare a thought to how odd this whole situation was. There was a major difference between simply watching, and fetching supplies. Were he in Geralt's position, Lambert didn't think he'd be able to stop himself from _participating_.

“Hey.” Jaskier's hand on his cheek brought him back, strange thoughts dissipating like blood in the water. “Remember the rules? We touch each other, Geralt stays back.”

“How did you—”

“Lambert,” Geralt said. “He knows. He understands us. Let Jaskier do what he's going to do.” And with that, Geralt sat back in the chair, eyes trained on the bed, hands hanging loosely between his legs. He was still in full armor, only setting his swords aside.

“Alright.” Lambert finally gave himself over, relaxing back into the bed and shifting his focus between his legs, where Jaskier sat like a beautiful fae creature.

A small vial of oil turned between those slim fingers. Jaskier pulled the stopper with his teeth and Lambert bit back a grunt. With one hand lightly stroking his cock, the other disappeared between his legs, one oiled finger starting to press in. “Relax,” Jaskier whispered.

Relax wasn't an easy command to follow, not with the pain in his side and Geralt's heavy eyes on them both, but a Witcher was a master of his body, and Lambert willed his muscles to unclench. Slowly but surely, that oiled finger slid home. Lambert laughed gruffly at the minimal stretch. “It's been a while, but I can take more than that. Your slender fingers are lovely, though.”

“Hmm, challenging me while injured?” Moving just out of Lambert's line of sight, Jaskier poured more oil and slid three fingers in. Lambert's breath hitched and Jaskier smirked. “I was going to be soft with you, but clearly, that's not what you want.”

“No.” Lambert grabbed Jaskier's shoulder, not to tug the man up or stop his ministrations (ugh, it was tight and a little uncomfortable, but pleasure sparked bright and intense with each movement, oh no, he never wanted Jaskier to stop) but to hold and squeeze, show the bard what he wanted.

Jaskier laughed softly. “Alright then.” The fingers in his ass thrust a little harder, faster, and Jaskier bent to nip at the inside of Lambert's thigh, sinking his teeth in just below his ass cheek. He placed the same love bite on the other leg, and one more just above his hip. That too talented tongue—with words and other pleasures—licked the inside of Lambert's thigh, between his balls and his leg. “Do you want my cock?” Jaskier whispered.

Oh, that sweet voice shouldn't be allowed to sound so dirty. Fingers in his ass, tongue against his balls, Jaskier's fucking oil fucking covering him—Lambert still couldn't make himself say what he really wanted. He decided to obfuscate instead. “Isn't it obvious?”

Another bite to his thigh, harder this time. “That's not what I asked.” Blue eyes peered up at him from—fuck—cock level, burning with an intensity Lambert hadn't seen before.

“Don't play coy with him, Lambert,” Geralt said. Lambert twitched a little, remembering Geralt... he was surprised that he forgot in the first place. “Tell him what he wants to hear and he'll give you the world.”

Lambert bit his lip. He'd done it before, simply... asked for what he wanted. But again, that was during winter, safely contained behind Kaer Morhen's walls where no one saw them. There, Lambert had no trouble asking Jaskier to stroke his hair, or kiss his neck, or let Lambert suck his cock. And now Jaskier expected him to relax while injured in some random fucking nowhere inn? That might be a bridge too far.

All too suddenly, Jaskier's fingers retreated. Before Lambert had a chance to mourn the loss, Jaskier climbed over his body, minding his injury, and pressed their foreheads together. “It's alright. I won't make you ask for it, not here.” He kissed softly, once, twice, then nuzzled their noses together. “Geralt doesn't like getting too _close_ at an inn either. He waits until we're in the wilderness, where no human ear can hear how much he cares. I should've known you were similar in that regard.”

Jaskier _heard_ Geralt's scowl from across the room and ignored it. He wasn't spilling deep dark secrets—like the way Geralt liked Jaskier's tongue fluttering against his asshole, or teeth sunk into the meat of his ass cheeks—only confiding in another wolf something they all probably knew. Jaskier knew it from day one, and Eskel spelled it out for him last winter: “A wolf does not bare its throat, not without good reason. It bares its heart even less...” He took those words to heart and thought of them every day.

Placing one last kiss on Lambert's throat, Jaskier sat back and took up the oil again. Slicking his cock, he lined himself up with Lambert's hole, his free hand curling under his heavy thigh. Jaskier wasn't strong enough to bend the man in half the way Geralt liked to take him sometimes, but a gentle nudge and Lambert moved himself into the right position, draping his legs over Jaskier's hips. Oh so slow, he pushed forward, sinking into Lambert with a drawn out “Oohhh... Lambert, you're so—fuck...”

“What,” Lambert panted, “tell me.” Just because he didn't want to speak about his _feelings_ didn't mean Jaskier wouldn't, the bard was oh so free with his words of love.

“You're so hot, and tight...” Jaskier drew in a gasping breath, sliding his hips back and thrusting forward again. “So strong.” Lambert tensed his legs around Jaskier's hips and he moaned again. “Yes, squeeze me like you want me.”

 _I do_ , Lambert didn't say out loud. He said it when he stroked Jaskier's cheek and squeezed him gently, trying to pull him in closer. Jaskier offered no resistance, blanketing himself across Lambert's chest, hips thrusting a little faster with each pass. One hand fumbled to wrap around Lambert's cock while the other tangled in his hair, bringing them face to face.

Jaskier came gazing into Lambert's eyes, a shuddering orgasm shaking him from head to toe. Lambert felt his cock pulse inside of him and groaned. “Fuck, Jaskier, that feels...”

Jaskier smirked. “Good.” He kissed Lambert's cheek and pulled out, half collapsing next to him on the small bed. “Give me a moment... I'll see to you.”

Geralt appeared at the edge of the bed and handed him a wet cloth to clean the sweat and oil away. Jaskier thanked him with a nod and tidied himself up a little while Lambert sat and watched. The way Jaskier and Geralt worked together, moved around each other, like they'd been at it a thousand years. And they decided to let him in on all this... Geralt was either very generous, or very stupid. No way Lambert shared a treasure like Jaskier if he got him first. Well, he supposed that's why he had to earn the bard's attentions, not have it gifted to him like Geralt. The White Wolf was truly a marvel, even among other Witchers.

Shaking himself, Jaskier sat up. “Alright, let's see what we can do for you.” He didn't pause to get Lambert's opinion, Jaskier already knew what he wanted. Taking his cock in his mouth again, he set a quick pace, faster and more intense than the light kisses earlier. Lambert fisted his hands in the bed sheets again and writhed, Jaskier's tongue and lips pushing him over far quicker than he thought. Witchers were known for their stamina, it used to be one of the only reasons Lambert found company he didn't have to pay for, and here was sweet Jaskier, obliterating that legend with every sucking, slurping movement.

Spit ran down Lambert's shaft, easing the way for Jaskier's hand to pump up and down his cock in time with his sucking, brushing from the head down to his balls, each stroke adding to the intensity until Lambert came. His toes curled and it took all his self control not to buck off the bed. When he felt Jaskier's lips still around him, swallowing down his spend—a little escaping the corners of his mouth—he almost came again.

He slumped back onto the bed and felt a twinge in his side. A quick glance showed no blood, so he didn't reopen the wound. Jaskier sat up between his legs, wiping the stray drops of come off his lips, ignoring Lambert's groans. “What? I couldn't let you stain your bandages, now could I?”

“I find it interesting,” Geralt said from his spot across the room. “You say Lambert can't fuck you for fear of aggravating his injury, and yet, you get to hide your sausage in his pantry instead.”

All the loving, nurturing elegance that graced Jaskier's beautiful face vanished when he stuck his tongue out. “I said he couldn't fuck me how he likes without hurting himself. Bending me in half, thrusting like he's trying to poke a hole in me.” His playful sneer smoothed out and Jaskier went back to caressing Lambert's face, fingers trailing down his chest. “I'll always be gentle.”

“Hmm,” Lambert grunted. “You two, bickering like an old married couple.”

Geralt snorted. “If we're married, then Jaskier has far too many pieces on the side.”

“Oh shut up, both of you.” They cleaned up and settled in bed. Jaskier spooned up behind Lambert and ran soothing fingers through his hair. “You need rest.”

“So do you.” Lambert knew how Geralt traveled: move as much as possible, clear up camp at first light. Jaskier was resilient enough to survive The Path, but all humans needed rest, far more than a Witcher did.

“Mmm,” Jaskier hummed absently, his eyes already closing.

When a soft snore floated up from Jaskier, Geralt finally moved. He picked up the chair and brought it to the edge of the bed. The bed was barely big enough for two of them, let alone three, but Geralt was fine to sit and watch over their human as he slept. He helped Lambert move Jaskier so they could both reach him. Minding his injury, Lambert pulled Jaskier into his arms, leaving enough room for Geralt to stroke his hair.

“Thank you,” Lambert said. “For letting him... for letting me...”

Geralt shook his head. “I don't let Jaskier do anything. If he didn't want to fuck you outside of winter, he would've dressed your wound and got us a separate room.” An amused little half smile flashed across his lips. “You should've seen him when he found out you were here. He slammed the innkeeper down on the bar to get the key from him.”

Lambert stifled his laugh, he didn't want to wake Jaskier. “Fucking serious? I knew he had fire.” He buried his face in Jaskier's neck and took a slow breath, smelling the mingled scents of road dirt, sweat, and the various oils and soaps the bard carried. “I've missed this. I didn't think I would.”

“Hmm, he has that effect. Haven't figured out how to fix it.”

“Guess we're stuck with him.”

They passed the rest of the night in silence, neither really sleeping. Geralt nudged Lambert to meditate a little while he stayed watch, and it helped. But, Lambert suspected Jaskier's presence helped a little more than either of them knew. They listened to the slow in and out of breath from the warm, pliant body, both Lambert and Geralt using the cadence to center their minds. He tried to think of when exactly Jaskier became the warm center of the universe, the one solid point next to death that Lambert could truly count on. Maybe some parts of the universe were supposed to remain unsolved.

~

A day and a half later, Lambert was fully healed, a brand new scar fresh and pink along his side. Yes, it still stung when he turned too fast, and itched to high hell, but he was better, ready to take to The Path again. Geralt and Jaskier rode out of town with him. Lambert tried not to laugh at the way the innkeeper flinched away from Jaskier—not the two fucking Witchers, _Jaskier_.

When they got a good way out of town, Lambert glanced at Geralt and they both stopped their horses and dismounted. Jaskier, who'd been walking along, pleased as anything, tensed at the movement. “What's happening? What did I miss?”

“Nothing,” Geralt said. He took the reins of Lambert's horse and stepped away, letting his brother do what he needed to do.

Lambert took a quick look around. They were still on the road, but they hadn't seen a sign post for a while, and the trees were getting decently thick around the path. Certain there was no one nearby, Lambert dropped to his knees in front of Jaskier, taking the bard's hips in his hands and pulling him close. With Jaskier's cock so near (he could smell him through all that silk, intoxicating) it was a miracle Lambert managed to keep his eyes on Jaskier's face.

“Thank you,” he said, probably the first time he'd said those words outside of Kaer Morhen. “Thank you for helping me. I wasn't in such dire straits that I couldn't manage on my own, but you make it so I don't need to manage on my own. I thought that was simply a gift bestowed in winter, and to find it offered again...” His teeth clamped down on the next sentiment. He'd shown enough of his soul for one day, he couldn't give anymore.

Of course Jaskier understood. He cupped the back of Lambert's head, running his fingers through dark hair. “Thank you for telling me how you feel. I know how hard that is for all of you.” Jaskier tugged on Lambert's hair, gently pulling him to his feet and into one last kiss. This was probably the last time they'd see each other before winter, and Jaskier wanted to leave Lambert with something, he only wished he could do more.

When they parted, Lambert felt a square block in his palm. “I made more orange soap for you. See you next winter?”

Lambert smiled. “See you next winter.”

Jaskier floated over to Geralt and they both headed down the road. Lambert watched them go and saw Jaskier pull the lute from his back to start strumming. Geralt heaved a heavy sigh. “Already? Can I not have one mile of peace?”

When he couldn't see them anymore, Lambert got back on his mount and headed the opposite direction, the scent of oranges and skinny bard surrounding him as he traveled.

The End

**Author's Note:**

> I have slightly retconned Lambert's relationships with the other Witchers. As I'm writing the last part of this series, I wanted to explore him and Eskel a little bit more. I like where the story is going and I had to change one small detail here to make it all fit. Sorry if some people don't like retconning, I don't normally do it, but I had to follow where the larger story took me. Thank you to everyone who's still reading :)


End file.
